His Father's Son: To save the son he loves, a desparate father must confront the ghosts of his past (5 page)

“Is he home, Joey?” she said, putting an ear to Marti’s bedroom door.

He nodded and folded his arms and then he unfolded them quickly. “Will ye leave him be, sure the boy’s crook.”

“Is he all right? Should I go in?”

“No, will you get away from that door.”

Shauna started to curl her lip, and then raised her hand over her eyes to stop the tears that were coming.

“Go way outta that, will ye,” said Joey.

“Is he okay?”

“What do you care?” He grabbed Shauna’s arm and led her away from Marti’s room and into the kitchen, closing the door behind them. “It’s a sin that boy had to leave this house on an empty stomach this morning. Ye obviously expected him to beg in the street for a feed like some class of knacker.”

Shauna’s eyes started to fill with tears. Joey shook his head. It was all a holy show. Wasn’t it a funny thing entirely, verging on the miraculous even, how she could produce herself at this hour, fresh as a daisy after half the day in bed and after leaving himself to collect a sick boy from the school.

“Look, I’m sorry,” she said.

“Isn’t it a bit late in the day to be sorry? It’s that boy of yours you should be saying sorry to when every child from here to the black stump knows it’s a mother that should be there for them in time of illness,” he said. “It’s about time ye pulled yourself together … for the boy.”

Shauna opened her mouth like she had just taken a shock and then she took a deep breath. She looked like she was about to make a charge. “Is that your considered opinion then?” She leaned forward, poking a finger in Joey’s chest. “Well, it might be easy for you to say. It doesn’t make it easy in the real world when you have the burden of all burdens to carry around on your own two shoulders.”

“The real world, is it now?” He was having none of it. “I’ll tell you what the real world is, shall I? The real world is what goes on out there when you’re lying in your pit feeling sorry for yourself.”

“Well, I wouldn’t know, would I?”

“No, probably not … sure wouldn’t that take eyes in your head and yours are shut most of the time.”

“Well, that’s rich. At least my eyes are only shut when I’m asleep!”

“Jaysus, when are ye anything else? Don’t I deserve medals after having wet-nursed you all these years, listening to your whining and putting up with your sluttish manner.”

“Sluttish manner, sluttish manner. Well I wondered when you were going to start quoting me from the gospel according to Peggy Driscol. If your mother was half the saint you made her out to be she would never have raised a bastard like yourself. Abandoned as a babe you would have been.”

Shauna was spitting mad and Joey didn’t know what he had done to bring it on. He’d only pointed out the facts of the matter. “That’s not
her
way,” he said.

“It was ours,” she said softly. “It was mine, a mother, and I turned my back on our child. It was a long time ago and I’m suffering for it still, and will be for a long time yet. Is that not enough for you?”

Joey felt shame for what he had said, but why was she bringing this up again? “You have a child here,” he said. The words caught in Joey’s throat like jagged little fish bones and started scratching away inside him.

“Answer me, haven’t I suffered enough?” Her voice was higher now. She was pleading with him. “You think I haven’t suffered enough, is that it?”

“Who am I to judge that?” said Joey. “There’s higher powers will have that pleasure.”

Shauna’s voice went into a wail as she began to sob heavily, and then Joey walked for the door once again.

“Joey, don’t walk away. Joey, don’t turn your feckin back on me again.”

Feck was a bad word. Marti knew it was how the Irish said the f-word because Dad had told him. Dad said feck wasn’t really as bad as the f-word but when Marti said it he still got asked if he wanted his mouth washed out with soap for using a bad word. Marti heard Mam say the feck word and then she said bastard, which was another bad word. He knew if he had said bastard it would be the mouth washed out with soap for sure, and maybe even the hot arse. Mam and Dad were fighting again. It was probably all his fault, thought Marti. He wished he had never seen the blue ten dollar bill.

There was a big silence and Marti wondered had the fighting stopped, and he stuck his head out into the hall to look. The kitchen door was closed but there was a little gap where he could see in. Dad was staring at Mam and she had a very strange look on her face, like the way people sometimes look on films when they’ve just been shot and are about to fall over with the bullet in them.

Marti thought Dad’s face looked like he had just eaten something that tasted really horrible and he would spit it out, and then he lunged forward and pushed open the kitchen door. Marti pulled in his head from the hall. He could hear Mam shouting for Dad, but Dad was walking down the hall, very quickly, with the big steps. Mam was still shouting when the front door was slammed and then he heard the bubbling with the tears and knew what would be next.

“Marti, come here. Come and give Mam a hug.”

He didn’t want to give her another hug. All this trouble was caused by the hugs. If Mam hadn’t made him give her the hugs then he wouldn’t have taken the money. There would have been no choco bought and no being sick in class and there would have been no fight with the door slammed again.

“I don’t want to,” he said.

“Marti, come to Mam. Come on now. Come here.”

He walked out of his bedroom and saw Mam. She was crouched on the floor with her head down in her hands. Her hair had fallen forward and was sticking all over the place in a whole mess. She looked very sad crouched on the floor, and when she looked up Marti saw she was ready to start crying all over again.

“Come and give Mam a hug, Marti.” She put out her arms, and when Marti walked over she grabbed him round the shoulders and held him tight. “Isn’t it you and me versus the world, little man.” He didn’t want to be called little man. It was just another one of the silly names Mam had for him. Hugs and silly names. She’d be turning him into a Mummy’s Boy like they said.

“Look here, my little man. How would you like a special treat?” she said.

“What kind of a treat?” said Marti.

“A special, special one. How would you like to go on a holiday?”

“Where?” Marti was confused again. He wondered, was it a holiday like the time Mam and Dad took him to the place where the whales came in at the sea? He didn’t think it was. It was a long way from the school holidays and Dad was away out the front door again, to be back who knows when.

“No more questions, Marti. You can go and get some clothes in a bag – and a toy, and a book, but just one of each,” said Mam.

“Where are we going?”

“Far away, Marti. It’s a long, long journey. Now hurry yourself.”

“But, Mam, where?”

“Marti, now listen.” Mam grabbed his shoulders and leaned down to look into his eyes. “You need to move yourself fast because we haven’t much time. We’re leaving tonight. Now c’mon, no more questions, son.”

“But Mam, Dad isn’t home.”

Mam stood up straight and looked away from Marti, then she pushed her long black hair back with both hands and turned around again. “Marti,” she said, “that’s right, son, but he can meet us later because doesn’t he have the ute and we’re going on a train.”

“A train!”

“That’s right son. A long, long journey on a train and then on a boat or maybe even a plane.”

“A plane!” Marti had never been on a plane and had only ever been on a train and a boat once, the time Mam and Dad took him to the place where the whales came in at the sea. He was excited about going on a train and a boat or maybe even a plane, but Mam didn’t look very excited at all. She still had the big black eyes like a panda from all the crying and looked like there was more to come.

“Now c’mon,” she said, “chop-chop. There’s a lot to do if we’re to get going. Now pack your stuff up. I want out of here in less than an hour, do you think you can manage that?”

Marti nodded and ran into his room and started to pack his things like Mam said. He wanted to ask Jono, who lived out the back, what toy to take, and he wondered if Jono would be excited too when he found out about the journey, so he called Jono with the galah sound. They made up the galah sound after watching a show on television where a boy pretended to be a bird to make a secret signal to his friends. When Jono’s mam heard them making the noise, she said, “Stop making a racket like a bloody galah,” and they kept the name.

When Marti made the galah sound, Jono’s sister Becca came to the window and made a face that was all scrunched up like Dad said was the woman’s look for making the milk sour. Marti never understood why a woman would want to make the milk sour and when he said this to Dad one day, Dad said, “Sure, Marti, don’t all cats love their milk sour. Sure, the sourer the better. It’s a passion for them.” Then he laughed, and Marti still didn’t know why a woman would want to make the milk sour.

Becca shouted on Jono and he came to the window and waved, then ran to meet Marti. He counted one-elephant, two-elephant … Jono usually took about six or seven elephants to get to the door. “G’day, Marti. Are you coming out?” said Jono.

“I’m going on a train and a boat or maybe even a plane!”

Jono looked sad when Marti said about the journey and only said, “When?”

“Now, soon.”

Jono looked really sad, thought Marti, even more sad than the time when Dad showed them how to play Battleships with the pencil and the paper and Jono wanted to stay and play all night but his mam said no.

“Marti, why are you going?”

“I don’t know. My mam just said.”

“Can I come?”

“I don’t think so. She has it all planned and I can only take one bag with a book and a toy, but I’d like you to come,” said Marti. “Will you help me pick a toy?”

The Incredible Hulk used to be Marti’s favourite toy before he started on the television and looked like he was just all covered in green powder. Marti couldn’t take the Incredible Hulk seriously anymore when he was just all covered in green powder, because it was a long time since even Marti had got the powder on him and powder was just for babies. When he was much younger he remembered Mam putting the powder on him after the bath and saying, here’s the chip going to get some salt, and he would always laugh at that. But the Incredible Hulk just all covered in green powder wasn’t even funny, thought Marti, and when he told Dad, he said, “Wasn’t that man just making a holy show of himself on the television for the big fat paycheque.” Dad said there were some things just not worth making a holy show of yourself for, and television shows was one of them, because there was no dignity at all in being paraded in front of the world like an eejit no matter how fat the paycheque.

“Are you taking the Hulk?” said Jono.

“I don’t even like him anymore,” said Marti.

“How long will you go for?”

“I don’t know.”

“Marti, will you come back?”

“Yes, I think so. Dad says this is our home and Australia is God’s country and he would never live anywhere else in the whole world. I think it’s just like a holiday, Jono, so we’ll be back, I think.”

Jono sat down on the bed and looked away at the wall. Marti couldn’t see his face, so he asked him to turn around, but Jono shook his head.

“What’s wrong, Jono?”

“I have a sore tummy.” Marti knew there was no sore tummy. It was all a holy show. Jono was just sad because he would have to go back to school tomorrow and have no best friend to talk to and have a laugh and a joke with. Marti was sad too but he wanted to go on the train and a boat or maybe even a plane.

Mam started calling him to bring the bag and pick a toy fast. “I have to go, Jono,” said Marti. She had taken the notion into her head, and Dad said once Mam had taken the notion into her head there wasn’t a pack of terriers to be found that could flush it out. She was a holy terror for acting on a notion all right, always had been, he said.

“Marti,” shouted Mam again, and then the bedroom door was flung open. “When did he get in here?” She had a mad angry look on her and Marti wondered why she would be so annoyed to see Jono when he was forever in and out of his room.

“Jono was helping me pick a toy,” he said.

“Well, you can say goodbye to him now. He’s off home,” said Mam, and she grabbed Jono by the arm and lifted him up off the bed in a hurry.

“Bye, Jono,” said Marti. “Bye … Bye…”

“Will, Marti be back, Mrs Driscol?” said Jono, and Mam turned her head to the side and said, “Back where?”

“Bye, Marti. Bye,” said Jono, and he was led away very quickly by Mam.

Marti watched his friend taken home across the back yard to his own house. Mam walked so quickly that sometimes Jono’s feet were lifted off the ground entirely but he still shouted, “Bye, Marti, bye,” with every step he took.

Now that was something, thought Joey Driscol. Sure it wasn’t every day you saw three pelicans flying in a row. But there it was, three of the big white fellas up in the sky with their saggy jowls flapping as loudly as their wings against the bright blue sky. It was a grand sight to see, so it was, but sometimes the melancholy Celt came out in Joey and he wondered did he really deserve to be in this place. In Ireland they would have said it meant something. Three of anything in a row would have brought bad news, like a black hat on a bed or an umbrella up indoors. He knew his own mother would have been splashing the holy water around, lighting candles in church and praying to her patron saint at such a sight as three pelicans flying in a row. But there were no pelicans back in Kilmora, and weren’t blue skies there only half as rare?